


King of Beasts

by Non_Nonners_Nonna2



Series: King of Beasts [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Hybrid AU, M/M, Multi, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Non_Nonners_Nonna2/pseuds/Non_Nonners_Nonna2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story where Jack gets it on with practically everyone. There's sex. Humor. More sex. Feelings and minor freak outs. Major freak outs. Cuddles and video games. The works.</p>
<p>This is where it all began with a stubborn Ram, equally stubborn Lion and a bar stool.</p>
<p>
  <b>4/5/17 Final Revisions Up</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Ram and a Lion walk into a Bar. Shit hits the fan.

It's a general rule of thumb that everyone abides by: opposites don't mix.

 

Granted, Jack doesn't get why the rule is still in use- isn't this supposed to be the 21st century he’s living in? But like most stubborn traditions, the saying holds some wisdom. Opposites don't mix. Science and common sense has already proven that. They aren't going to get along, singing kumbaya around a campfire. One or the other, sometimes both, are going to have friction. It’s their very nature to clash.

 

Predators and prey are obviously perfect examples of that idea.

 

That's why Jack will swear up and down the Nile that it was never, ever his intention in a billion-no, a _trillion_ years to give the unspoken rule the middle finger.

 

After all, it was _his_ fault.

 

He came onto Jack's turf quite willingly, so he must not have known that lions are terribly territorial creatures. If he did, then he didn't show it- in fact, he doesn’t show any inclination he knows anything regarding territory and the consequences of trampling it. But Jack can't bring himself to think about it much.

 

In the end, his spot is gone and he isn't happy.

 

This situation, however bad it’s turning out to be, brings up to mind another pragmatic rule, this one much simpler and to the point: Don't fuck with a Lion's shit. That's just common sense talking, as fucking with a predator's effects, much less anything claimed by a big cat, is simply asking for a date with trouble.

 

But Jesus Christ on a _fucking corn dog_ , the other doesn't get that. He should have realized- really, he should-that the place wasn't a free spot. If the pure scent of a hunter all over the chair couldn't be enough of a clue, the ram could have gotten a tip off from the terrified reactions of nearby patrons.

 

Guys who were only a seat away moved over four more, creating enough of a cushion space for any shit about to go down. A small, green gecko who had originally planned to seat herself at the counter wisely decides to move to an empty table on the other side of the bar. The poor terrier waiter, being left as the only immediate person in the vicinity of the chair and ram, quietly trembles in fear, his brown ears flat against his coiffed hair. Everyone keeps their heads down.

 

On the other side of the bar room, near the double doors where Jack hasn't moved a muscle since he witnessed his turf being intruded on, the silent lion is trying to rationalize the picture he’s seeing. Only thought one thing comes to mind after churning the scene over and over in his head.

 

_This guy is a nut job._

 

Regardless on whether or not that's a true statement, just watching the sheep (goat? He honestly can’t tell the two species apart) sit his little ass on the stool doesn't serve to do anything besides making him angry. He came inside from the blistering heat of Austin weather with the intent of spending another lazy afternoon with a drink in his hand. Clearly, this ram will make that hard to do if he continues to take up his spot.

 

The only thing left for the bigger man to do is confront the prick and reclaim what is rightfully his.

 

And he better make a move soon. Already the other man is making himself cozy, the horned fellow placing an order of nachos and a shot of whiskey to the bartender, ignorant to how a few patrons draw in a unanimous gasp. From what Jack can see, positioned behind this foolish guy, is an expression that is lazy, bordering on fatigued. Even when Jack silently slinks from the double doors to the tile flooring right at his backside, the ram's face doesn't change from that tired look. His mind must be far away.

 

Or maybe he doesn't care enough to address the person behind him. Either is possible.

 

The other guy's attention seems to be focused on the corner TV, his head slumped against his gloved knuckle and muttering about a fumbled pass. His scent, from what Jack’s sensitive nose can gather, is between a pleasant aroma and the stink of a long day, the kind one would expect on a Friday after a long, grueling week. Perhaps he’s far too relaxed at the moment to pick up the terrified reactions of everyone else. Whatever the reason is, it allows a few minutes to pass with Jack standing behind this strange fellow, the other completely at ease.

 

Anyone who arrived after this moment could easily mistaken this as a scene where a Lion is showing interest in an older, innocent lamb. That's not it, though.

 

At least, Jack will insist that. What happens later on fails to make his argument credible.

 

Five whole minutes pass. Now, there are times when the wild side of his mind gets ahead of him, so it takes a good moment for Jack to realize he's been growling lowly. It's his feline equivalent of a pout, as his round ears fold back against his skull and he has to take a second to stop himself. No, no, he's not going to lose his cool that easily. It’s one thing to get angry and another to be banned from the bar for throttling a person. He’s got to keep his temper in check.

 

But either the other doesn’t hear him or doesn't give a shit, as he makes a random comment about a news program, laughing at some inside joke he must have. Jack frowns.

 

How much of a douche _is_ this guy?

 

In the meantime, his inner cat is pretty much having a melt down, mentally pacing back and forth while roaring how this goat, this _food item_ is treating him like some domestic kitten. He can hear the ram talking in his mind, their imagined voice mocking.

 

_There, there, kitty. Little kitty, go and fuck off already. This is my spot now. Go run away with your tail between your legs. Poor kitty, sad kitty. What a laughable excuse for a beast._

 

It’s all imaginary but that's how Jack perceives the other to be presenting himself, it’s how his lion is taking the situation. His human side only knows it's been too long a day and he's too tired to put up with anymore bullshit.

 

Since the moment he arrived and found his place to be stolen, he decided he wasn't going to let it slide. He's not going to back down with his tail tucked between his legs. The King of Beasts never bows down.

 

-

 

Of course the world doesn't stop in its tracks when he sits down beside the idiot, though he can't say that on the behalf of everyone else. The terrier waiter gapes openly. The few who were brave enough to watch the event from the start duck their heads down to their drinks. But Jack ignores it.

 

He makes a show of 'accidentally' brushing his palm against the edge of the counter, a black raspberry tang with an underlying tartness bursting forth. The gland of his hand sends forwards his simple, subtle message: You've fucked with the wrong guy today. Still, he keeps acting pleasantly, looking to the slumped gentleman in a sidelong glance.

 

His gaze isn't returned. The profile of a certainly tired, if not exhausted older man doesn't bother to turn his way. Instead he scratches the tip of his nose, lightly messing the groomed hairs of his dark mustache. Either he's not impressed by the smell or he's a bigger idiot than this lion has taken him for.

 

He can't decide which one it is but either choice pisses off his animal enough he's worried if he might go feral, right in the middle of the bar.

 

But he won’t, he promises himself that. He chooses to stay calculated and composed as he moves forward with the confrontation. To keep things peaceful, he decides to break the silence first.

 

"Well, you're a fresh face. Don't come around here often?"

 

That gets the guy's attention, if only for a minute. Dusky teal-green eyes stare at him, a fine black brow cocking over half lidded eyes. Jack knows he can smell the warning he's made-there's no way in hell he can't-but his quarry's smile is vapid.

 

"Yep," replies the other. And that's it. The ram is back to looking ahead, thanking the busy bartender as his shot is set before him.

 

Jack blinks.

 

The ram doesn't say or do anything else besides taking a swig of the whiskey, downing half the glass, the ice rocks clattering before being roughly placed back down on the counter top. He doesn't register, or maybe he refuses to take in Jack's incredulous expression. Really, a part of Jack hates this guys for looking so smug. His lion is still fuming.

 

All the Ram has got to say to him after minutes of silence is, "Place doesn't have the best nachos, to be honest. Too much cheese, not enough salsa. But my other joint stopped stocking Daniel's so they're not getting anymore of my paycheck." Jack's left ear flicks, his tail gently thumping the bar stool’s leg.

 

“I see,” he says genially. “That's really too bad. And you had to go out of your way for a decent drink?” The Ram shrugs, his gesture noncommittal.

 

“Not really? This place is closer to home than my regular. I just preferred my regular for a long time, ya know?”

 

Jack knows and he answers that with a nod. For him, this bar is his regular. It's a little ways from his flat but he'd always come here than some seedier bar located elsewhere in Austin's core. Here on East 6th Street, right on the edge of the famous block, he's come to adore the homely diner and bar.

 

Which may explain why he's so dang protective of his seat.

 

It seems the Ram finally gets that. If the waning warning smell didn't finally set him off, the exchange did; he sits a little straighter, puts his knuckle down on the counter to really size Jack up. But amazingly, just like before, he doesn't show a hint of fear.

 

"Oops. Sorry kitty-poo, am I in your spot?"

 

Jack forces the smile to stay in place despite the horrendous pet name, his tail swishing back and forth.

 

"Afraid so,” he answers. He has the decency to feel a little apologetic about it, if only to hide his smugness. “Let me introduce myself first: I'm Jack, Jack Pattillo. See, this bar is my regular joint. And your seat? I've found it to be the best in the diner. Call me crazy but I'd like to have my spot back. Do you understand?"

 

He can't believe it's that simple. Did he just have to be polite and ask for his spot? Opposites might not mix, both bound to disagree, yet the whole adage pales in light of this encounter. The other looks like he's genuinely considering the request.

 

He's humming, taking another drink of his whiskey. He has yet to look nervous, to figure out the gravity of his mistake but now Jack won't rush him. At least the guy is taking in his request and that's enough for him. To be honest, he hates confrontation: he's a bit of a softie when it comes to displaying his strength but hey, people prefer softies over killing machines don't they? And his scent, ever strong with an Alpha's odor, should egg the other to doing things Jack's way.

 

After all, the waiter is still shaking in fear some feet away. Two antelopes who had sat adjacent in a booth had to order take-out boxes for their meals to make a bee-line for the exit. Even the nearby wolves are cowed, tails in between their legs in deference to the King of Beasts.

 

Sure, he's perpetuating a bad image about apex hunters yet he can't deny it get things done.

 

Yet for all he's accomplished, the ram stays put. His eyes are set forward, drinking away his booze, steadfast in place like a beached ship.

 

Maybe it's that general show of disrespect that's pissing him off. It's evident that in the minutes he's considered the request, he's decided he's not going to move. And why won't he? Any other hybrid would have submitted. Why is it that out of all the people he's ever met, this guy has to be so openly stubborn? His mind races with questions and no viable answers.

 

"I'm not scared of you."

 

The flat observation makes Jack sit up straight, ears quirked forward and his face bare with curiosity. This Ram is looking at him now, his dull eyes carrying an air of seriousness. His belled ears and round head are slightly lowered in warning. Like growling was the lion's way of pouting, this is his way of becoming cross. Showing off his huge, curved horns is a warning to back off in his own primal way.

 

Such a brave display has Jack blinking rapidly for a few moments before he can recollect himself. He replies with a confused but truly honest, "Excuse me?" while the other still lowers his head.

 

"I'm not scared of you. You're a lion hybrid, I get it," the Ram retorts. He shakes his head, mustache slightly curling with his sneer. “I'm not afraid of you. I just met you dude, so quit it with the intimidation tactics, yeah? I want to be able to eat my nachos in peace and you're getting on my nerves.” He says this right as the plate of nachos is set down, and takes up a chip to his mouth to munch on.

 

Though Jack has had his suspicions, an outright proclamation like that has worn his patience thin. “So you can smell me,” he accuses, eyes narrowing. The Ram shrugs again.

 

Jack's fur begins to frizz, a rumble tearing out of his throat at the indifference.

 

“You knew it. You were well aware you were taking my seat and you took it anyway. What the hell, man?” Again, the Ram shrugs. He's not put off. The same can't be said for the people behind them, as the Terrier waiter begs his boss for an early break and the wolves hightail it away to the restroom.

 

Jack is still growling and the Ram is still maintaining a sense of calm, though his head is still bent downward. “It's just a chair,” he defends, taking another chip to his lips. In between his loud, overly obnoxious chewing, he quips, "Dude, to be real honest with you, you look as fluffy as a kitten. You got a cute face to boot. There's no way in hell I'm gonna be scared by you. Even if I was, I'd still headbutt you if you made me."

 

He finishes the chip and warns, “Don't actually try me though. I _will_ headbutt you. Do you really want both of us kicked out of here for starting up a fight?”

 

Despite the discontent he feels, the Ram isn't wrong and Jack isn't an idiot. Like a toddler he'll sit beside the other, fuming silently away. After all, he's not cute and he still wants his seat...

 

...Wait a minute.

 

Wait, wait. _..What?_

 

It's taken a total of ten seconds but the realization sinks in. Jack's face falls from a tight glower to naked shock.

 

_Did he just- Was I just- Does this guy thinks I’m_ cute?

 

Most ladies dig felines but for an apathetic Ram with worn horns to show interest? That's different... He growls again but this time it sounds less angry. It's genial, his tail taking to thumping in a silent giddiness he can't help. Even his lion is slightly surprised by this revelation, it's no less happy for the compliment.

 

"You think I'm cute?" he asks. It's forward of him to ask, yes, but don't blame him: it's an interesting discovery. The ram waits a beat and nods.

 

"More than most predators I've met. Some are ugly as dicks and I cry for the mommas who had to kiss 'em goodnight all their lives." He pauses and smiles, amending his insult: "But you're pretty cute, yeah. I'd say you're a solid nine on a scale from one to nine."

 

Jack can't contain himself and barks out a laugh.

 

“What, not a ten? Are you cheating me?” The Ram laughs with him. His head has raised back up and the tension vanishes into thin air.

 

“Nah man, I save the ten scale for like, Adonis or someone. Like, I'm talking a young Sean Connery or maybe Chris Pratt, one of those attractive guys.” The laughing increases tenfold-the tartness of his raspberry scent is gone, now accompanied by a cool vanilla.

 

It's amazing how one comment can change so much, though Jack can't be unhappy about it. The lion inside is sated, no longer bothering to put on dominating airs. It's been too long of a work week, he admits to himself, to stir up trouble now. He was foolish for trying to be so pushy before.

 

And however painfully blunt the other is, the Ram proves to be a gentleman- he passes along the nachos for Jack to pick at and, out of good will, he accepts one. He savors the spiciness it leaves on the tongue.

 

What truly makes the situation favorable is what the Ram tells him: “If we're done with our passive-aggressive arguing now, I'll say sorry for taking your seat. I'm just tired.”

 

“Tired?” Jack prompts. The Ram shrugs.

 

“It's been a long-ass week. I'm exhausted as shit.”

 

The frizziness of the others dark locks and the bags under his eyes has Jack stating, “You look like shit too.” Oops, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. He bites the inside of his cheek right after saying it, eyes widening in alarm. But the Ram smirks.

 

His smile is playful as he says, “Thanks for noticing, asshole. At least someone sees how tired I am. Ain't the same way with others I've been working with. Anyway, long story short is that I'm tired and I don't want to have to put up with predators who think they can push me around so easily.” Jack hums around another chip he picks from the pile, considering the meaning behind the words.

 

“I take it,” he starts slowly, “bullying happens to you a lot?” The Ram is shaking his head. He downs the last of the shot, putting the glass down and tapping for a refill a new waiter fills. Now that Jack is really looking at the other, he can tell there's a lot of tension in those shoulders, a hollowness in his pale cheeks.

 

“Like you can't believe,” he mutters. It was barely whispered over a decibel but Jack heard it clearly.

 

Now he feels it, a little nagging guilt that gnaws at him. For Jack, that gnawing is like a vermin's bite, sharp and painful. Guess he wasn't the douche after all.. A piece of himself is berating him, claiming he's being too lenient, arguing that the Ram is still a dick, though Jack is quick to silence it.

 

I can survive, he reprimands that part. Like he said, it's just a damn chair.

 

Yet because he was thinking so deeply about it, he nearly misses what the Ram says. It's only due to his peripheral being good enough that he notices the other moving his lips, sans a voice. Like tripping over an uneven sidewalk, Jack tumbles out of his head and blinks owlishly at the other.

 

“Huh?” he asks. The Ram stares at him. He's smiling cheekily but saying nothing in return.

 

Jack tries to ignore the flush growing on his own cheeks as he stammers, “S-sorry, I totally spaced out there. What was that you were saying?”

 

The Ram is pulling his lips a grin over the rim of his shot glass, the slight white of his teeth peeking from below his pink lip. “I said that if you're still sore over the seat thing,” he repeats slowly, “we can cut a deal.”

 

Jack blinks. The Lion is listening intently.

 

“A deal? What kind of deal?”

 

The horned fellow leans on his knuckle again, sizing up the ginger big cat. “You're a lion right?” he suddenly remarks. “Straight up West African, right? Not a Liger, no mix at all?”

 

A fair question-not many lions are ginger colored like him but there's no need to mix bloods for that result. So Jack nods.

 

“I promise you that you're right. I'm a pure of the Shannon pride and proud of that.” He really is, as his inner cat begins to mentally puff out in pride.

 

The reaction is less than what he expects.

 

A few seconds pass and the Ram's face is turning red. For a minute Jack wonders if the other has finally gotten to that point of being piss drunk. Yet there's an odd shake in the guy's shoulders. All too soon the hunter gets it-the little shit is trying to hold back chortling.

 

“What?” he snaps. The prey hybrid turns away, hand covering his mouth as a snort comes out.

 

_“Shannon?”_

 

“Hey, it's a family name!”

 

Regardless, he's doubled over laughing, red faced as he agrees, “Sure it is... _Shannon._ ”

 

Jack answers him with light punch on his shoulder and a roll of the eye. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he grouses, waiting for the other to sober up. “Get back to what you were saying, why don't you. You want to make a deal?”

 

It takes a few moments for the Ram to calm down but when he does, he nods giddily. “Right, I said that,” he says.

 

With his free hand not gripping his glass, the Ram explains, “I'm pretty tired, yeah? I'm stressed and I'm not lucky enough to have many butting buddies in town. We horned guys like to relax by knocking our heads together. Strange, I know, but it does wonders for the knots in the neck.”

 

“Anyway, I try to have one or two friends I can contact when I'm frustrated as dicks, but they've been real busy. Since I've been real busy too, I've only gotten more wrung out.” He stops for a moment to sheepishly admit, “That's probably why I didn't give more of a fuck when I smelled your seat. I'm just that fucking out of it. Without someone to get me to relax, I'm losing it. And we guys who have horns are downright terrors when we've got frayed nerves. You understand?”

 

Jack does, if only because he faintly remembers something like this from Health 101. Hybrids need to sate themselves and their animals in various ways, unless they want to act like shits to other people. He gets it but remains quiet, listening as the Ram then declares, “If you do understand, then you know I gotta go with the next best thing or I'm going to tear off my mustache.”

 

Here, the lion is at a loss.

 

“The next best thing?”

 

What's that? Whatever it is, it's got the Ram smirking something downright evil.

 

The other is leaning forward before Jack can comprehend it, his face so close that Jack can nearly tell apart the green and blue flecks of his eyes. His voice is surprisingly low and clear as he states, “You're a straight up lion. You're an apex predator, top of the food chain. You've got those famous killer instincts.”

 

It comes as a complete shock when he put forth his request:

 

“Chase me.”

 

It takes a fraction of a second for his brain to short circuit, hazel eyes going wide as his jaw slackens.

 

“E-excuse me?”

 

The Ram doesn't change from his serious look as he repeats it:

 

“Chase me. Do what you predators do and chase me outta here.”

 

In the next moment the Ram is leaning back in his seat, as if he hasn't just made a ludicrous deal a second ago. In fact, he's talking, clarifying, “Like I said, it's the next best thing to butting. Running gets the endorphins going and all that shitty science but I don't run for the hell of it. I got to have a reason to be running. So what better reason is there than to get away from a hunter?”

 

Jack gulps dryly, trying to ignore how interested his lion has become. "You're not.. you can't be.. You're not hitting on me, are you?"

 

The Ram lets out a loud cackling kind of laugh, yet it's the sweetest damn thing Jack's ears have ever heard. "Fuck, if that's what you'd like! I get you kitties like to chase, that it means something deep and personal to ya." He's instantly changed from serious to flirtatious in a heartbeat, looking Jack up and down with growing interest.

 

“Truthfully, I've seen you around beforehand, kitty. You're pretty interesting to me, so I'm going to just offer this chance to you. All other hunters can fuck off.” He finishes his spiel playfully. “That's the deal. You get your spot back if you chase me out of here. Whether or not if you can catch me depends if you're a skilled little kitty."

 

If there's anything in the world that gets a feline hybrid aroused in seconds is the promise of an active hunt. Chase, run, catch, play. Those are the four things the activity provides, the four things that life in suburbia can't always offer. The Ram understands this, wordlessly challenging the ginger hybrid. He's daring Jack to accept the deal, to choose between staying put or sating his boredom.

 

_How about it big boy, can little kitty-poo chase this little billy down?_

 

Jack grumbles, louder this time, his own grin forming, the tip of his fangs revealed behind his lip. Things have taken a drastically different turn than he expected but it's not like he cares so much anymore.

 

"Well, as long as you're offering it..." he answers. The smirk they share between them borders on filthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep revamping this series and each time, I feel a little prouder. Don't get me wrong, the idea in itself is good but that I'm able to fix it up so it's even prettier? Nothing more that I like.
> 
> You lot are still perverts though. I hope you all appreciate the work I put into this, to give you A+ smut! ~Nonners


	2. Run around, run around, run around with you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deal is that Jack has to chase this ram outta his bar to get his seat back. But problems happen when you never discuss what will happen if and when you DO catch your prey...

Paying off the bill takes seconds to do, a generous tip left for the trauma the shivering Terrier had to endure, before the two men return to the open of the Austin evening. The city they call their hometown is between that moment of calm and vigor, where the white collars are already back in their hotel rooms but have yet to change into their club attire. Judging from the glinting lights in the West, 6th Street is waking up, bar owners setting out their special-of-the-night signs and guitarists tuning their weathered instruments. There are few pedestrians besides them outside, window shopping or hurrying off to their next destination. Fewer cars are driving around, leaving the streets mostly empty.

 

It’s quiet for a Friday evening but it's alright, in Jack's opinion. It'll make the chase that much easier. Less obstructions there are, the better.

 

Muggy weather, cooled down from waning sun, feels good against Jack's skin, a refreshing wetness compared to the stale air inside the building. It smells like Austin, it smells like home: unique in its smell but not at all unpleasant. He appreciates the warm feeling it leaves in his chest, purring in contentment, to the point he forgets what the other is going to do.

 

But felines are quick and clever beings. He hears the scrape of a shoe's sole on the ground, brushing away loose dirt before there's a grunt and then- _whoosh!_

 

It takes an entire second for Jack to realize the ram has torn past him.

 

He's incredibly fast for an older dude.

 

And he's already down the street, near to the corner of Waller St. where he stops in place. The ram cocks a look over his shoulder, an impish smirk daring Jack once again. _Whatcha waiting for, kitty-poo? Giving up already?_ Jack grins, his fang poking over his bottom lip.

 

The rush of adrenaline is beginning to pump through his veins, creating a high feeling. He already feels better than he has in weeks, as energy coils into his hooked, feline legs. Even the best eyesight has trouble registering how fast he springs into action, barreling down the street towards his game.

 

The ram’s eyes widen with his smile as he notices how quickly the berth he created is disappearing and snaps back into a canter, all to avoid being caught prematurely by a skilled hunter.

 

There’s no need for words now. The chase is on!

 

-

 

Of course Jack should have realized it would be a challenge from the start: it’s been years since he has ever had to run like this, longer still if it wasn't for a school’s P.E. event. His limbs are burning and lungs are heaving, trying to match the quick pace the Ram has set. It's not easy, not in the slightest to keep up.

 

And yet he's loving every moment of this insane game.

 

“Bike!” yelps the Ram ahead, clumsily ducking right to let the badger bicyclist pass. Jack is much more graceful than his friend, his nimble feet instinctively pulling him aside but not letting him lose much ground. It must have been impressive feat, as the bicyclist gapes while he passes by with wide eyes. Even the Ram looks backward to judge how close the pursuing hunter is and, very eloquently, shouts a loud, “Fuck!”

 

He dashes forward again to put more distance between them. Jack eagerly follows behind.

 

At least the Ram is trying to make their play interesting; the lion wouldn’t have bothered to continue racing if all the other was going to do was run a straight line. So when the Ram suddenly spins on his heel, taking an unexpected right on 2nd, Jack feels the sharp spike of excitement grow in his gut. It doubles when the other makes another turn, galloping down Medina. The turns are sharp, forcing Jack to take care not to lose balance.

 

Scattered groups of people who occupy the streets that evening watch them go, each more confused than the last on what the sheep did to fuck with a lion hybrid.

 

What they don't understand that they're having the time of their lives. Someone doesn't have to be pissed off to enjoy a good run.

 

Still, it's getting more interesting by the second; the Ram has at least four and a half meters in front of him-a swift little shit he is!-when he suddenly disappears to the right again. From where he's trailing, Jack can't tell why. Is he taking a shortcut somewhere, trying to find a hiding place? He doesn’t mean to slow his run but instinct tells Jack not to hurry into an unknown situation.

 

By the time he catches up to where the ram disappeared to, he finds the only place where he could have gone. It seems the Ram escaped into a small cafe, the Cenote. Why?

 

The inner lion is focused on that question, trying to puzzle what the other has planned. Of course Jack isn't prepared for what he ends up finding, as he pulls up to the white fencing of the establishment and into the place itself.

 

A part of him wants to face palm himself while another part laughs at the stupidity of the scene.

 

“Why are you drinking at a time like this!?”

 

The Ram's head perks up from the beer he's already tipping back, free hand slapping down cash for the lady behind the counter. Although the fearful rabbit girl is looking between the two with uncertainty, the Ram smirks behind the neck of his bottle.

 

“I got thirsty. _Duh_.”

 

Jack huffs, crossing his arms as he leans against the open cafe’s door. “You drink water when you're thirsty, not alcohol, you idiot.”

 

The Ram barks a laugh, showing off his blunt, pearly teeth.

 

“You don't know me very well then!”

 

True but Jack won’t let that stop him. On instinct he's getting back down on a slight crouch, his tail ramrod behind him. His ears are perked forward and his pupils are slits-their chase isn't done yet. The Ram must agree, as he's still smiling widely at the other fellow.

 

He moves behind the nearby table wordlessly, regardless to how a pair of mice stare openly at him. The action is answered by Jack's muscles slackening and the feline groaning.

 

“Cheater!”

 

“I wasn't gonna make this that easy for you!” the Ram reminds him. As he continues moving behind the tables and few curious-and somewhat put off- patrons, he adds, “I got to keep you at bay somehow. Besides, this'll give me enough time to finish this bottle.”

 

“Is that a good idea, to be running a marathon while drunk?”

 

“Clearly you don't know me and how I work.” Saying so, he downs the last of the brew in two, large gulps, smacking his lips with a satisfied sigh. Jack watches as the sheep tosses the empty bottle between his hands, all before launching it underhanded to the other side of the room. It falls precisely into the recycle bin, gaining a few impressed claps from the audience they’ve gotten.

 

Jack shakes his head as the Ram bows. Show off.

 

His running partner only looks pleased, turning towards Jack and stepping out from behind the table barriers. “Back to our marathon?” he offers, Jack giving him an amused smirk.

 

“You're insane,” he tries to say but the other has already sprinted past him-again!-to the open door and vaulted over the fence before he pronounces the first word. He roars, “You piece of shit on a dick!” much to the shock (and terror) of the cafe patrons.

 

Of course Jack can’t apologize for his sudden outburst, as he flies after the fleeing prey and back out on the Austin streets. Yep, it's a tough job to hunt down the billy. He’s not complaining though.

 

-

 

The Ram is proving to be the right kind of opposition for Jack: he's fast but not absurdly so, literally keeping the big cat on his toes. He passes by people, jumps over signs and maybe rounds a street pole once or twice just to be funny. Whatever he does, it's keeping the hunt fresh and exciting for the top predator. Even an hour into their run, willing to give this up.

 

To be frank, it's just what Jack needs to loosen up, to not feel the knots suburban life has planted in his back, or the old aches work has left him this week. The Ram was right when he said chasing is the next best thing to relax: Jack feels alive, feels the sort of zest for life his other half often yearns for. It's so fulfilling that somewhere, Jack hopes this chase never ends.

 

But as they keeping running, playing and jeering while moving down the streets, there comes a point where they can't recognize their surroundings anymore; concrete bleeds into something more natural, the two panting like dogs as the buildings give way to empty lots and shrubbery, clear of any life save for the non-hybrid.

 

That's when they come to pass a lonely bridge, the sounds of the creek and a few chirping birds overtaking the distant honks and yelling of people. It's not quite dark on the path they take but it’s also not very bright, the thick brush casting shadows here and there, hiding them away from prying eyes. As they enter deeper into the belly of the secluded bridge, Jack senses a change. The Ram is getting tired-his limbs are heavier and his movements slower, sweat trickling down his face and arms.

 

The lapse in energy lets Jack catch up the last few meters, to where he can nearly nick the others tuft of a tail with a swipe of his paw.

 

But like before, the Ram tries to pull a fast one; he must have seen the curve of the hill that led down to the bank, where an unused sidewalk is built on the shore of the small brook. It's uneven earth but it provides a straight, simple route back to where they came from. He felt like he outwitting his pursuer that way, dodging off the bridge's side, onto the bare ground and down the slope to make his getaway. He probably thought his strong, muscled legs will keep him from a nasty fall. For a Ram hybrid, it isn't wrong to think that.

 

Yet the other fails to remember Jack is still a lion: he'll pursue his prey, no matter what the cost could be.

 

The bee line down the hill only incenses the lion within, who urges Jack to jump for the gold. In the span of seconds he's throwing the weight of his body to his haunches, his calves straining as he coils pounds of energy to his core. It’s all thrown forward then, as his legs spring up. He makes his leap of faith and

 

_Crash!_

 

Jack probably miscalculated his jump a bit but it happens in spur of the moment decisions. Their arms hook and their legs tangle together, the Ram's leg bent around Jack's, causing them to lose their footing. Too easily, they fall forward with the momentum and go tumbling down the hill, one right after the other. Each grunts and hisses as the uneven dirt gets everywhere, neither one stopping until they hit the flat concrete with a dull thud.

 

And with Jack triumphantly above the other male, no less.

 

He could rejoice-Jack has every right to-given that he's caught his quarry at last after so long a struggle. But in the hour they've been at it, Jack has learned to associate “ram” with “difficult”.

 

They struggle for power: the Ram moves his dark head dangerously close, trying to butt him off. He snorts as his horns only chip Jack's beard, then weakly bleats as Jack's hands press his shoulders to the ground. He still tries to buck, growing frustrated with each miss.

 

Jack tries keeping his weight centered on top of the struggling goat, sweat beading on his forehead as he concentrates. He growls, warning the other to keep still; when it's ignored, he resorts to using his hands to pin the other man's torso while his legs straddle him.

 

It takes five agonizing minutes for the Ram to finally give up. The end is punctuated by a muttered curse and sigh, as the form underneath the big cat relaxes. Chest to chest, the two are gulping down air, tired from their exertions.

 

Much to Jack's surprise, the Ram doesn't turn out to be a sore loser. He's chuckling in between his wheezing, grinning like a mad fool.

 

"Wow!" he gasps. "Haven't-haven't had a chase like that since high school, man. Fucking beat me fair and square."

 

Jack smiles, purring contently.

 

"Y-you too," he retorts brokenly through his huffs. The compliment is genuine. "For a ram, you sure can bolt." They both chuckle at each other, still trying to get their bearings from the rush of hormones and emotion.

 

Down by the rushing creek, hidden under shadows, the light is still strong enough for Jack to make out the other guy's features. His shaggy black hair is wild, his mustache limp from sweat. His eyes, which had been so glazed before, seem to twinkle brightly, green and blue pools that watch him with gratitude and....

 

And....

 

That other look is unfamiliar. Is that some sort of interest in his eyes?

 

But he can't ask about it. He doesn't get the chance to. There's something in the air, a flavor wafting around that Jack hasn't noticed being there before. His nose catches it, coiling in tendrils and settling in his stomach like a heavy drink. It's a sweet aroma, a sort of nutty smell that a candy shop would have, maybe with a drop of honey mixed in. It smells welcoming, almost teasingly so, like an invitation to...

 

Oh.

 

_Oh shit!_

 

Understanding gets Jack to less than gracefully flail around, pulling backwards fast enough he lands on his ass with a hard thump.

 

_Oh god, did I just-?_

 

The Ram's eyes are still wide but look stung.

 

“You alright?” he asks. It sounds monotone-he knows Jack isn't alright but he doesn't know why. He's asking for asking sake.

 

Jack, meanwhile, is still trying to find his voice, all while trying very hard not to let his body signal back. When he can find his words, he says the least casual thing in the world:

 

"You're an Omega!?"

 

The Ram pauses, cocking his head to one side in amusement.

 

“Yep.”

 

He's hoisted himself up enough to watch Jack's meltdown, leaning on his elbows for support. There's not an ounce of shame on his face-there's nothing to be ashamed of, really, if one has a given status-but he's kind enough not to give Jack flack for his nervousness. He only waves his hand as he calmly explains, “Hey, it's okay if you didn't know that. I've got a pretty weak scent these days so no one can tell off the bat. Comes from not having an Alpha for years, you know?”

 

That's a basic fact taught in Health 101 but Jack can't wrap his mind around it.

 

“You're an Omega,” he whines. His ears are pressing flat against his hair while his form shrinks farther back from where the Ram is laying down. “Oh god, you're an Omega. I didn't notice you were an Omega- _how could I fucking not have_ -and I chased you across town, and holy shit man, _what were you thinking!?_ ”

 

The Ram blinks.

 

“Whaddya mean?”

 

Jack rolls his eyes, exasperation briefly replacing his anxiety.

 

“You idiot, use your nose!” Saying so, he roughly rubs his hands together, igniting the glands there. The Ram's eyes are widening to almost comical levels as Jack holds his palms up to him and orders, _“Smell!”_

 

“Kay.” The other sits up and leans over, taking a deep whiff. “Huh, that's a sour raspberry if I've ever smelled one.”

 

Jack ignores the comment as he hisses. “What else do you smell!?”

 

“Irritation?”

 

“And!?”

 

“Exasperation?”

 

At this point, Jack allows himself to double face palm.

 

“I'm an Alpha,” he snaps, glaring at the other from behind his fingertips. The Ram blinks owlishly as he points out, “It means I'm a predator with powerful instincts. You invited an _Alpha_ to a chase you, an _Omega_ , across town. Do you know what that fucking implies for me!?”

 

The Ram is silent for a few moment before he draws up his hand, placing it smack down on the tent forming in Jack's pants. “It means I got you hot and horny pretty easily?”

 

“Fuck yes,” Jack hisses, more from annoyance than the growing feeling of pleasure from the pressure. He groans a bit, his hands balling into fists as the Ram traces his fingers on the bulge, massaging the fabric. “Motherfucker, did you ever take Health 101 in high school?”

 

“I did. Never paid much attention, though.”

 

“Fuuuuuuck!”

 

He's pressing the ball of his hand to Jack's denim crotch and rubbing it well, getting the mound to swell as nerves sing in anticipation. “Oh you big baby,” he tuts. He's smirking as Jack mewls, intensifying his rubs. “Were you worried that you'd hurt little old me? I told you, I’m sick and tired of predators thinking they can boss me around. That includes any Alphas too.”

 

Jack groans, mind becoming too muddled to care as the Ram's free hand drags up to his belt. He messes with the buckle, tugging it loose before pulling the strap of leather away with a tug. Somewhere in the back of Jack’s mind, he knows exactly where this is going. He can't bring himself to care despite how he should.

 

At least Jack tries to resist once and in the future, he'll say it's evidence of him not intentionally going down the wicked path. “W-we just met,” he argues.

 

His voice is cut short when his fly is opened, moaning as fingers prod the hardened dick behind his boxers. “I-I don't even know your name,” he protests weakly, even as his hips buck into the others warm grasp.

 

The Ram hums happily, a grin forming on his lips.

 

“Fair enough. My name's Geoff. Geoff Ramsey. Now shut up so I can take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it incredible how I started this fic almost three years ago and it's grown so well. I'm proud.
> 
> Title taken from lyrics of "Carousel" by the Hollies. ~Nonners


	3. Doing Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did things go from one to a million so fast? Trust a hybrid's hormones to fuck things up (literally).

_Taking care_ can imply a lot of things these days, depending on who says it and how. For one Jack Pattillo, taking care is usually positive-maybe it's just taking care of a morning wood that's lasted too long, or doing some menial task. But when he hears Geoff tell him that, he's not quite sure what he expects.

 

It certainly isn't for him to be flat on his back below a bridge, pants and drawers shed beside him. Additionally, he doesn't expect to find himself groaning so needfully as the horned fellow dives down on him. “F-fuck!!”

 

The only way he can describe it is being absolutely sinful: Geoff takes him in to the base, his pale cheeks caving in, sucking just enough as he pulls back. His tongue is thick, wetly massaging every inch it can reach. The whole thing is just too good to be true.

 

Either sex has become a profession since the time he left college or the ram is just awesome at giving head, Jack can't tell: Geoff's having no problem sucking him off like this, nosing the curls of Jack's pubic hair. He draws himself up to the very tip, where he laps hungrily at the slit. The hunter swears he's tasting him, licking possessively for any precome that's beading there. It's ironic as fuck that the goat is devouring him, his teal eyes glazed over with lust as he makes the predator come undone.

 

Granted, it only takes a few minutes for Jack to be reduced to a whimpering mess, hissing whenever Geoff's blunt teeth lightly scrape him in a playful nibble. His hands feel useless-he can't gain any traction on the dry cement, his nails scraping uselessly on the ground. At the same time, he can't predict on how the ram might react if he grabs his head. Hell, he can't even look down that much-the scene is just too much for him to bare. Yet a particularly hard suck draws a loud “fuck!” out of the cat, his amber eyes shooting downward.

 

They lock eyes almost instantly and Jack knows what the other is thinking: “Don't you dare look away, just enjoy this.” Jack shudders.

 

He's so docile in front of this ram, settling his hands onto Geoff's head amidst his choppy black hair. His fingers brush the base of his large, curved horns-without much thought, his hands begin to trace them. Geoff must not mind much, if his gentle hums are anything to go by. The humming feels great thrumming against his prick, Jack holds onto the bone, as if they can anchor him from drifting off into his senses.

 

They feel so smooth despite their wear, the keratin sporting few cracks and a faded scar. As Geoff has his way with him, his clawed fingers trace the discoloration-it must have been a terrible injury, given it's size. The ashen gray spot almost blends into the silky hair he finds himself petting absently. He smirks. Jesus Jack, you're really losing yourself here...

 

Another deep suck and he moans again, sweat beading on his skin. His mind is foggy and it's not from the oral alone. Yes, it's definitely because of that smell.

 

That sweet, sweet smell of honey and hazelnut, the sort of confectionery air he'd find in a candy shop, is cottoning his senses and keeping Jack from using his higher brain functions.

 

Somewhere in his lust hazed mind, in a part that's desperately clinging to rationality, Jack is trying to make sense of his current situation. _I'm fucking a guy I met in a bar not even an hour ago._ While that sounds about right, it's still not the whole picture. _He's currently deep throating me, he's a fucking filthy Omega and doesn't give a shit about giving me head._ Closer but no dice.

 

_Oh fucking hell he's good at this, it's like he wanted to suck off me all along._

 

That sounds about right.

 

Of course he can't vocalize this, as he's breaking into harsh groans and guttural cries. Geoff's not letting up, drinking in his thick cock like the Water of Life. The only time he slips off is to lick at the head, hand slowly jerking the length of throbbing flesh.

 

His teal blue eyes, still with their lazy lid, stare up into Jack's hazy ones, a grin on his lips. "Feel good, Jack?"

 

Jack whines, his tail coming from behind to wrap around Geoff's wrist. It limply squeezes him for release.

 

He grins cockily, placing a kiss on the wet head as it twitches in need. Fabric rustles as the ram sits up, pushing off his belly an onto his knees. Gloved hands grab at the hem of his shirt and tug. Off comes the black, long sleeved shirt, getting rolled up into a ball and discarded to the side. Jack settles down once more but this time in awe.

 

That.. is a shit ton of tattoos.

 

Decorations of colored ink cover every inch of his partner's arms, around his biceps and even down to the backs of Geoff's hands. The images of compasses, feathers and things were hidden by a thick veil of black but, as the gloves are shed, Jack can't bring himself to count how many images there might be. It’s a landscape of art, an orchestra of color upon pale skin. All he can do is stare open mouthed.

 

Catching his stare, Geoff smirks.

 

“I'm with an acting crew," he explains simply, gesturing to the abandoned shirt and gloves. "I ain't ashamed of them, no sir but not everyone digs 'em. So I have to put that shit on whenever a formal shin-dig happens."

 

He takes an inked hand to his chest, tracing it down his abdomen and missing the tattoos of dragons and scales, right to where his happy trail begins. "Like what you see?" he asks.

 

Jack gulps, his heart pounding. "Y-yeah. Hell yeah I do." Geoff smiles.

 

"Good. That answer just earned you a treat."

 

Jack doesn't realize Geoff's mouth is on his until chapped lips press against his own. It's intense. If passion can be leaked through touching lips then Geoff is flooding him with arousal. All too soon they're breaking into a frenzy, that frenzy coaxing them to deepen it, to bruise each other.

 

Like a good lover, Jack complies with every silent request, opening his mouth to let Geoff in-it's wet, it's horny and another challenge of dominance as Geoff's tongue plays with his own. The muscle teases him, coiling around his, feeling the barest sting of Jack's sharp canines. Likewise, Jack kisses him deeply and tastes the flat of Geoff's teeth, the mint of his mouthwash. Both moan into the kiss, melting with the heat that's surrounding them.

 

Geoff proved how good his mouth was on his cock-the ginger can't believe it applies to kissing too.

 

But there's always a catch to the scene: this catch involves his inner animal. The lion, being ever so proud, doesn't back down from challenges of dominance. It isn't about to roll over like a good kitty, legs spread apart for the animal that ought to be his dinner. Before Jack knows it, instincts have turned the kiss into something rough, something suffocating and feral. Geoff's eyes have gone wide and now it's solely him melting into the kiss, bleating lowly as Jack's arms come to wrap around his back and waist.

 

They pulling themselves together until it seems like they're one form, sweat and rutting together in unison.

 

The lion still hungers for more. Automatically the bigger male bends forward, against the Ram's chest, their combined weight toppling Geoff. They hit the ground with another thud. Geoff only hisses once from the contact but says nothing else, too preoccupied from how the tables have turned.

 

When Jack isn't kissing him, he's lapping at the other's neck, reveling in how the scent glands and the racing sound of Geoff's hidden jugular causes him to lose it. He nips and sucks, nibbles and marks the naked expanses of skin: Geoff coos, trying to follow his mouth each time it leaves him, grunting in displeasure as Jack's strong hands keep him still.

 

Meanwhile, Jack's erection is hanging out of his pants, pressed against Geoff's clothed one. The two groan as any minute movement causes them to grind together, their nerves singing. Geoff places a hand to Jack's chest, urging him to get up a little-his other hand is struggling with his own jean's zipper, unzipping it to free his aching cock. Jack relents enough to allow him.

 

And my, isn't it a pretty little thing. He purrs as he eyes it- it looks like an ordinary dick, bare save for the metallic jewelry pierced into the foreskin. It's not as impressive as Jack's larger and thicker prick, which is specifically suited for mating encounters. However, on this Omega, it's probably the sexiest thing in the world. Jack wants nothing more than to wrap his hand around it and jerk the other until he's babbling nonsense. Of course, a wiser part of him wants more.

 

_I want him moaning beneath me instead._

 

Beads of precome are pouring from the slit, glistening like Geoff's sweat drenched skin. Jack finds it alluring, unable to stop himself from thumbing the head with his hand. It earns a hissed moan from his prey.

 

Now skin on skin, they can only groan loudly at how fantastic it is to be rutting against each other. Their hands join briefly to bring their pricks together, squeezing them against one another and deepening the grind. They savor the burn that flares.

 

Geoff's Omega scent is still heavy, the cloying honey-hazelnut weaving with Jack's zesty berry tang. Among the tincture, a low musk begs Jack to continue, to grab the hooks of Geoff's belt and tug his pants down further. Creamy white hips, once freed, are grasped between vice-like fingers. The lion's fingers press onto them, bite into them with his nails but rub tenderly at them as well. He can't help it, he just needs to feel the ram in every way he can.

 

Geoff is whimpering, pleading for him. His smell is suffocating. Alpha, I'm here. Alpha, I'm ready. Alpha, alpha, alpha fuck me.

 

He can't say no. He'll never say no, as he leans forward to lick, kiss, bite and mark whatever he can find. Geoff is bleating, crying and cringing from the overwhelming sensations, unable to stop his animal cries. _Yes, there, there, please don't stop. Mark me, please mark me, don't ever stop._

 

The lion is purring, delighted with how he can unravel his prey. This is probably it, the thrill of having caught your game and cherishing your victory. He's won, he has earned the right to claim, in this case, the right to mate. Still, there's some sense he retains, however faint. He's not all animal, Jack can promise that. He doesn't want to overstep his boundaries.

 

It takes the effort of lifting a small sedan to pull away from Geoff, to stop kissing him and tasting him and just having him. He blinks a few times to clear his sight, vision still blurry from not having his glasses-safely tucked away in his case.

 

"You alright?" he asks quietly, pulling back from the nipple he had been caring. Geoff whines, biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut. The lion hybrid sighs, bringing up his hand to turn the Ram's head his way. "Hey c'mon, look at me. I don't get performance anxiety. I'm asking if you're okay."

 

Geoff's eyelids flutter open, revealing the hazy teal eyes. "'m more than fine," he slurs, face awash with a blush. It's like the arousal is the extra shots of whiskey he forewent from the bar they left-for an Omega, his state horniness probably is like being smashed. "D-don't stop, you're really good. Kee-keep going, please." Jack smiles but it's a little pained.

 

"I think," he starts, "we should stop here."

 

His suggestion makes the other wide eyed, face struck with horror. Jack is resolute though; he may be an Alpha, but he's not one of those Alphas. He doesn't go around looking for lays, and certainly not from individuals who might not be entirely sober.

 

"Sorry, I just think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves. Don't want to do something we'll regret, you know?"

 

Geoff shakes his head, whining.

 

"No man, c'mon!" he complains, shivering beneath him. The sight only makes the lion more interested, much to Jack's chagrin. "No, no, c'mon Jack, don't bail on me now. This is really good-do I have to suck you off again? I'll suck you off! C'mon don't leave me hanging. I really, really want this!" He sighs.

 

All Omegas are needy in the throes of passion and it's the number one reason they can be so easily abused. Jack won't continue if it's just the animal who wants it, who doesn't care how mortified the human can become the morning after.

 

He talks slowly and clearly for the other male, pressing him: "Is that you or the Ram talking?"

 

Geoff stills. His blue eyes show a little hurt at the question, no matter how necessary it is to know.

 

But maybe Geoff gets that. Maybe his mind catches up because then he relaxes a little, panics a little less.

 

"Both of us," he answers.

 

He tries sitting up, managing to do so with Jack's hands no longer pinning him. He sets himself underneath his jaw, breathing in his whiskers and musty, raspberry smell from his throat's glands. It's pleading, it's submissive, it's the exact sort of thing animals do when they want attention. Geoff may not realize it but he's appealing to the right side of Jack.

 

"We both want this," Geoff mutters into his neck. He can feel the faint flutter of eyelashes on his skin and Jack groans. "Me and the damn horny goat want this. It's..it's been too long without a partner who cares."

 

Without a partner that can see past the Omega. Such a claim, a needy, honest plea can melt the firmest resolve: Jack is instantly hugging his new companion, whispering into his ear.

 

"I get it. Alright then."

 

It doesn't take long for them to be in the position Jack had never expected to see himself in today. He hovers over his new partner, transfixed by the slick that is seeping from Geoff's thighs. It's a translucent liquid, heavier in it's hazelnut-honey smell and wetting the concrete below his pale hips. It's nothing scientific that Health 101 taught him about Omegan sex, not beautiful like erotic authors try to describe it.

 

It feels only natural, for himself and the lion inside, as he leans forward to place his lips on the shivering entrance.

 

Geoff cries, long and shrill, his whole body jerking as Jack begins to devour him. The slick is thick and sticky on his rough tongue but so delicious; it drips down his throat like fine syrup. He grabs Geoff's hips, pulling him further down on his tongue. The slick floods downward, some of it sloshing off his lips and down his chin. He can't complain; he greedily drinks it all, the hormones, the scent, the need he finds. Geoff only stutters above him, helpless to do much else.

 

"Oh hell yes, oh fuck yes, shit on my dick man! Ooooh fuuuck Jack, yes, don't stop! Oh fuck me, Daddy!"

 

...Huh?

 

There's a short, hilarious pause as Geoff's brain catches up with his idiotic mouth. Jack, on the other hand, is looking up with a wide, pleased grin. His lips may be covered in slick but the moment is rather amusing to him. After all, when two and two connect in his head, Geoff squeaks, a very unmanly thing for a Ram like him to make, covering his blushing red face with his hands.

 

"I--I uh...I didn't- Uh, oh shit, I turned you off, didn't I? I'm so fucking sor-"

 

"Boy, you don't have to say a thing," he growls back, moving forward to shadow the Ram beneath him. He's loving how Geoff shivers at 'boy', soundlessly whimpering. "Daddy is here to take care of you. You naughty thing, just whimpering for Daddy's cock."

 

He grins as Geoff whines. He doesn't stop his voice from turning seductive, purring as he asks, "Would you like that, my dick in your needy hole?"

 

"Y--yes..."

 

"Yes what, Geoffrey?"

 

Geoff is already on edge as he breaks into a howl. His legs clamp Jack around the waist, pulling the lion on top of him. "Yes Daddy, yes I would like it! I really want my Daddy's cock in me!" He whimpers as Jack leans down to kiss his neck, still whispering. "Please fuck me Daddy, I need you to fuck me." Jack can't say no.

 

The lion in Jack forgets the need for preparation but it's not like Geoff really cares at this point, not when he literally screams when the other enters him in a long, painful slide. They both grunt at the foreign feelings, Jack's being a warm, wet tightness, while Geoff's is a large and thick cock. He at least give the horned fellow a moment to breath before he starts thrusting, trying to find that spot that' will bring out stars and heaven in him. Meanwhile, Geoff has to content himself with losing it, shuddering and gasping with each jerk that rolls their hips together.

 

They're thrusting, they're colliding with sloppy kissing and fumbling hands, trying to find purchase. The extra slick makes it so easy to pull in and out-Geoff squeezes Jack every time he leaves in a silent "Don't go, not yet." Jack won't recall how the rest of their clothes are abandoned, scattered around them like leaves, or how one of his shoes will end up in the creek, if only because he's been caught in the midst of pleasure. He's entangled in soft limbs and a lovely smell, blue eyes lusting while his brown eyes can only rake over his partner's beautiful, sweat slick body.

 

It's a natural coupling, the kind of rut only ancestors knew, the mating that unties two as one. When Jack does find that pleasure center, Geoff's prostrate, striking it three times in succession, he's surprised to feel the Omega he's sheathed in come-hard. Geoff is nearly crying, biting his lip as Jack's dick gets another coat of slick. He's babbling sentences between "Oh god" and "yes", knocking his head back into the ground.

 

Maybe it's just that sexy sight of seeing Geoff coming undone that Jack doesn't take too long to follow after him. He can feel the pleasure build in his gut,and guesses to how long he has before his knot swells. Probably not long at all.

 

Tiredly, he moves back onto his haunches, ready to pull out-but when that time comes, muscled, hairy legs anchor him in place. Jack's too surprised to say much aside from a, “Jesus shit!” as his knot begins to harden.

 

He glares at the ram and his flippant smile. "Geoff, what the hell are you doing!?"

 

The Ram smirks at him, too lazy and satisfied to return the glower. "Nuh-uh," he says simply. "You don't pull out unless I say so, Daddy." Jack groans, wincing as the blood-filled muscle is tugged inside the ram's wet heat.

 

"B-But my knot-!"

 

"I love it," the other sighs, rubbing his cheek against Jack's neck. "I love my Daddy's knot. I want it inside me when he comes." The words are so innocently but send a huge delivery of blood down south. Jack will wonder later if his knot formed within record time. Either way, it feels good.

 

"Oh Jesus-titty-Christ."

 

Geoff huffs a laugh that dissolves into a hiss as the knot moves inside him."C'mon Daddy," he croons, moving his hips. Jack whines as the knot digs in further. "Come for me. Come right inside me, fill me up. Do it Daddy, I'm so eager."

 

Jack figures he'll never be able to deny the other man, not now, not ever. He roars as his peak is reached, slumping as the onslaught of excitement and heat leaves him with a final thrust and a load of cum. Geoff groans at the feeling of being filled, sitting up and on top of Jack's knot to kiss him.

 

"Oh yes, oh yes that's it! I love you Daddy, I love you!"

-

 

It takes time for all their senses to return, the knot between them preventing them from getting dressed. Jack is on his back, Geoff atop of him as they wait for the muscle to loosen and free them. But the Ram is sighing contently, snuggling into Jack's warmth.

 

"That was the best fuck I've ever had in years."

 

Jack chuckles, a little thinly, still a bit tired from their encounter.

 

"I agree. That was..that was something else." He purrs when Geoff turns a little to place a sloppy kiss on his lips, sighing when he draws back. "Never thought when I woke up this morning that I'd be fucking in public with a guy I barely know," he admits, frowning at Geoff's snorting.

 

"That's not what I thought this morning," the Ram rejoins. "I had every intention to seduce you today and it worked. Yippee."

 

Jack's frown darkens. He pulls away his hands from where they were rest on Geoff's hips-despite the coy smile Geoff is giving him-to cross his arms.

 

"Say what now?"

 

Geoff rolls his eyes. "I told you I had seen you around before, didn't I?" he remarks."I can't help saying I've been interested for awhile now. Your scent, your character and handsome face..." He's dead weight atop Jack as he breathes him in, smiling from what he finds.

 

"I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to seduce you, see if I could interest you in me."

 

Jack tilts his head, eyes soft. "And this?" He moves a little forward to get the message across, all while Geoff groans and smiles.

 

"A little-oh!-A little minor deviation from the original plan. I meant to get you interested, though I'm not gonna exactly look down on this." He is still smiling. "Are you?"

 

Jack smirks. "Nah."

 

"Didn't think so."

 

They still have a bit before the knot really loosens enough to move. Jack wonders what they can do in the meantime-if there's a way for him to calm himself and finish sooner-until Geoff starts kissing his neck. "Uh, Geoff? What are you doing?"

 

"Getting pumped for Round Two."

 

"Fucking hell."

 

It's gonna be one hell of a long year...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/5/17: After at least two years, I can finally say with confidence that the first arc is done and won't undergo any more revisions. I still surprise myself that something which had started off as a one shot is now a multi-part series. Dang. I guess that's what happens when you take something too seriously.
> 
> Again, the revisions are done, so any further additions to the fic are probably going to be artwork that I may/may not include. It takes time but I want to make this a quality fic. I'm no cheapskate.
> 
> As always, comments and criticism are welcome!


End file.
